On Spontaneity
by empathapathique
Summary: Harry has an unexpected request for his girl. But what does he know about spontaneity, anyway? A prequel, of sorts, to ‘Harry and Pansy Go to Brighton.’


Title: On Spontaneity

Author: Empath Apathique

Summary: Harry has an unexpected request for his girl. A prequel, of sorts, to 'Harry and Pansy Go to Brighton.'

Note: This was very fun to write. A special thanks to somandalicious for reading this when it was first produced. Enjoy.

-- -- --

Pansy stood atop of the stairs, arms crossed against her chest as she looked down at Harry Potter. To say that she hadn't expected to see him after she'd left her Defensive Charms seminar was an understatement. Regardless of their involvement, he wasn't of the habit of picking her up after class. They didn't have that kind of relationship. They didn't have ostentatious public displays of affection where people they knew—or who knew _of _them—may be around. The threat of being spied by someone with loose lips and an eye for fame was too high to risk for such nonsense. They were what they were. They _knew_ what they were. He didn't need to proverbially piss on her in public to show the wizarding world what they knew, too.

Especially not like this.

Harry was standing in the doorway to a car Pansy had never seen before in her life. One of his hands rested idly atop the vehicle and the other held on to the open door, his fingers thrumming a haphazard beat on the frame as he looked up at her, green eyes expectant.

Brighton, he had said. Let's go to Brighton.

Bloody hell, she thought. What on earth was wrong with this man?

"Well?" he said.

She looked at him blankly. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"I don't own a car," he said, pointing at the vehicle. "I had to _rent_ this thing."

"I know," she replied, exasperated. "But _why_?"

"I'm trying to put the spontaneity back in you life, Parkinson. Accept it."

She scowled at him. "I won't. You've got no right coming here demanding things of me."

"Get in the car," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "I have assignments to finish this weekend."

He shrugged. "I've my final Auror exams in two days."

"Harry!" she exclaimed, shocked that he'd plan something so irresponsible when he was only days away from the test that would decide his future career. "Are you completely mad? We aren't going to Brighton! You should be home studying!"

He shook his head. "I've been preparing for those exams ever since I first entered the program—"

"And you should continue preparing for them _now_. Don't you _want_ this?"

"Of course I do," he snapped, offended at the implication. "I've never wanted anything in my life more than I've wanted this, Pansy. Ever." He ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. She could see the stress he hid practically leak out of his form with the motion, and she felt bad, almost, for what she had said. He looked at her, green eyes bright. "Perhaps I should study more—read up on Ministry policies and the elementary ingredients and timeframe for brewing veritiserum—but I can't. Either I'm meant to do this, or I'm not. No amount of last minute studying will suddenly give me the knowledge I need to pass this test." He looked sad, almost. "There's nothing more I can do."

Pansy stared at him for a long moment, taking in his slumped shoulders and the way he continued to tap against the car door in some sort of weird, nervous twitch. He'd rented the car, though, which said something. This trip took more planning than she thought Harry Potter capable of; rightly so, as he'd planned the damned thing when she was swamped with work and he was impossibly close to taking an exam that would change his life. But he'd rented a car, she thought again, sighing. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, took a step towards him.

"The extent of your planning is atrocious," she said finally.

He smiled, shaking his head. "Where's the spontaneity in planning, Pansy?"

She fought the urge to smile as well. "At least there's a car."

"And groceries. I bought groceries."

She arched a dark brow in question. "Am I to put up with your murderous driving and then your cooking as well?" She continued to approach him, her skirt lifting lightly in the summer breeze as she made her way down the steps. "Merlin, should I leave a will?"

"You needn't worry about my driving, Parkinson, nor my cooking."

"Should I expect to be back home before dinner on Sunday evening, then? I shant miss Sunday dinner with my parents, Harry." She flashed him a smile. "I wouldn't want my mother to worry."

"Perhaps she should," he said, taking her hand in his and pulling her closer to him. "Perhaps we'll get lost in the sand."

His lips were a hairsbreadth from hers. "On purpose?"

He tilted his head to the side, his lips brushing against the pale skin of her cheek. "Does it matter?"

She closed her eyes, smiled. "It better be a hell of a weekend, Potter," she said, brusque and businesslike once again. She pulled away from him, walked over to the passenger side of the car.

He grinned. "Have I ever disappointed you?"

She looked at him with faux seriousness. "You certainly better not start!"

--

-fin


End file.
